


For You, I Will (I Don't Believe in Magic, but)

by theweightofmywords



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Criminal Louis, Drug Dealing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Music Teacher Harry Styles, nonlinear storytelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-28 18:44:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12613008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theweightofmywords/pseuds/theweightofmywords
Summary: #43: Because he said he loves you, and you're not ready to say it back.During those nights when the gun rested cold and heavy in his hands... he knew that he would think of Harry and remember that the world could also be beautiful.-Louis leads two lives, when all he wants is a simple one with Harry.





	For You, I Will (I Don't Believe in Magic, but)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Please don't share this with any of the people mentioned in this story. 
> 
> Title taken from Bruce Springsteen's song "Countin' on a Miracle." Bruce's song "If I Should Fall Behind" is also mentioned, because apparently, I was in a huge Bruce mood while I wrote this. 
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://kinglouisxxviii.tumblr.com) if you want to drop by and say hello!

“What’s something you want that money can’t buy?”

The question had lingered in the air long after it had left Harry’s lips. His voice had been little more than a murmur, but then again, it didn’t need to be too loud. They laid in Harry’s bed, the sheets rumpled around them.

Louis’ fingers entwined with Harry’s, stretching their arms towards the ceiling. The afternoon sun streamed in, causing their hands to cast shadows against the wall. The air conditioner unit hummed from its place in the window and drowned out the noise from the street below. Louis felt like the room was their own private universe. While they were here, they were untouchable. The outside world fell away, and all that was left was this:

Harry’s curls splayed out on the pillow below him. Louis’ stubble brushing against the soft skin of Harry’s cheek. Hushed conversations and slowly blinking eyes. Questions that no one had ever bothered to ask Louis. Answers that he never thought he’d voice.

“Freedom,” he replied, after staring at their hands for a long while. Under the din of the air conditioner, he imagined them walking hand in hand, his eyes focused on what was ahead instead of what was behind. He imagined being able to look only at Harry instead of over his shoulder. “I’d want freedom.”

Harry had turned towards him then, his brow furrowed.

“What do you mean?” he asked. He ran his hand through Louis’ fringe, brushing it off of his forehead.

Louis remembered his duties, the rides he had to go on, the money he had to count, the stash he had to distribute, and he knew he _couldn’t_. He couldn’t bring that darkness into Harry’s life. The closer Harry got to the centre of his heart, the closer he was to being thrown into the line of fire. He wanted to be able to run free with Harry, but instead, he was chained to the next drop-off, the next pick-up, the burner phone that told him when and where to be, the sentence on his record that kept him from doing much else. His father’s legacy, left for him to fulfill, even though the weight of it crushed him.

He wanted to be able to walk through the world feeling like he was doing more than surviving. He wanted each breath he took to feel like it was enough, like his lungs were not always on the verge of collapsing under the shame and the panic he dealt with each night.

Louis closed his eyes and leaned into Harry’s touch, so soft and unlike anything else in his world. Things like Harry- beautiful, gentle, and honest- did not last long in his life, but Louis wanted nothing more than to stay by Harry’s side.

That was what he meant when he said freedom.

___

When he had noticed three missed calls in a row from Niall, he knew something had gone wrong.

“Arthur got me- he got the stash,” Niall had screamed with a shaking voice. “I’m shot.”

Louis asked no questions except for which stash house he was in. Without a word, he swerved into a U-turn and began speeding there. Harry turned to him with confusion written across his face.

“Where are you going?” he asked, fear tinging his voice, as he clutched the handle above the car window.

Louis grit his teeth as he focused on the street ahead of him. How could he begin to tell him the truth about who he was? The other man looked at him with such open affection, and his every move, every word, was painted with honesty. How could Louis, a man who built his life on deception and lies, still be regarded with such adoration if the truth were to come out? He kept on driving, weaving in and out of traffic, as Harry’s question was left unanswered.

“Louis, what happened? Who was that?”

Louis shook his head, his mouth set in a thin line.

“I can’t answer your questions right now.”

Louis swerved into a left turn, causing Harry to fall against the window.

“Sorry,” Louis added, reaching out a hand to rest briefly on Harry’s leg. He wished that he could rewind the night, when they had held hands under the table at the library’s cafe. A pang shot through his heart as he mourned the loss of those moments, but as he glanced at Harry, who only stared at him with concern in his eyes, he knew that he owed him the truth. “I promise you, I’ll explain later.”

Harry nodded, exhaling slowly.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay.”

When Louis had pulled up to the house, he had reached under his seat for his gun. Louis took one look at Harry’s widened eyes before he spoke.

“I’ll explain everything later. But for now, I need you to be calm, yeah?”

Harry’s eyes darted between the gun and his face. “What… is….”

“Later,” Louis spoke tersely. He glanced towards the dark house before turning back towards Harry. “C’mon. Stay close to me.”

He opened the door and looked around quickly. The street appeared deserted. Arthur and his crew probably fled immediately after they held Niall up, once they had what they wanted. Louis ran up to the front door of the house, as Harry followed close behind. When they got in, Niall was slumped on the floor, his back leaning against the wall.

Blood covered his whole arm, landing in a pool by his side. It was everywhere. On the linoleum floor, the walls, on Louis’ hands as he began to work diligently to stop Niall’s arm from bleeding.

“We have to take him to the hospital-” Harry fretted as soon as he saw him, his back flush against the opposite wall. His face paled as he watched Louis begin ripping shreds from Niall’s flannel shirt.

“Tommo, who the fuck is- Jesus fucking Christ!” Niall cried, throwing his head back against the wall.

“Louis, what is happening?”

“Oh, god, oh god, it hurts-”

Despite the cacophony from the two other people in the room, Louis grit his teeth and tried to focus on wrapping the strips of fabric he had ripped from Niall’s shirt around his shoulder. Tying it off into a tourniquet, he prayed that it would be sufficient to stem the flow of blood emerging from his gunshot wound.

“You’ll be okay,” Louis asked, the quiver in his voice only marginally audible. He hadn’t risen the ranks of the organization because he did not know how to keep a cool head. No-- he was capable of staying calm in these types of situations.

“Louis, we need to call 999-”

“Harry, do _not_ call 999,” Louis directed sternly.

“Who is this guy?” Niall whimpered, staring at his bloodied arm. His skin grew paler by the minute as a thick layer of sweat covered his face.

“The bullet didn’t go in. It just grazed you,” Louis informed him, his question left unanswered.

“Why not? The guy is shot!” Harry protested, his phone in his hand. “He needs medical attention!”

“I _am_ the medical attention, Harry!” Louis shouted. Upon glancing the phone in his hand, he lunged for it and threw it to the ground. It laid there, screen shattered and stained with blood. “Do  _not_ call the police here, I swear to God-”

“Oh god, Lou, do something about this-”

“What the fuck, Louis-”

“I said, no police!”

“Are you sure it didn’t go in, Lou, it won’t stop bleed-”

“We have to call 999, there’s so much blood!”

“He’s not going to bleed out, damnit!”

“Fuckin’ Arthur and his crew, fuck, fuck, _fuck_!”

Louis raised his hands to his head and screamed in frustration.

“Everyone needs to shut the fuck up, right now!” he roared. Turning to Niall, he spoke quietly. “There isn’t a bullet in your arm. It just grazed it, so keep putting pressure on it.”

He turned towards Harry, who was standing against the opposite wall, his face wan as tears filled his eyes. The anger in his face softened when he looked at him, nearly shaking in fear. Louis’ desire to take care of him outweighed the urgency of the situation, and his voice took on a gentler tone when he spoke to him again.

“Please, Harry,” he appealed. “I’m just gonna patch him up, and then we’ll go.”

Harry nodded, quickly wiping the tears from his face with his sleeve.

Louis tried to ignore Harry’s sniffles, the way he paced the side of the room with his hands gripping his hair. He needed to take care of Niall before the situation became worse than it already was. He had never intended to bring Harry to a place like this. He had never wanted for him to see him in this light.

He wished they could rewind the hours to when they were sat together in the library, the late afternoon sunlight casting long shadows as it hit the rows of shelving. Harry’s hand rested upon his as they passed a book back and forth between them for hours. Making it to the next chapter was their most pressing matter. Harry’s too-loud whispers as he asked Louis what he thought of the book, or as he teased Louis for his smudged reading glasses, as he tried to silently laugh when Louis distracted him with funny faces.

Their moments were simple, and Louis mourned their loss already as he took a bottle of hydrogen peroxide out of his bag. He handed a bandana to Niall, who nodded tersely before stuffing it into his mouth. After twisting off the cap, Louis made eye contact with Niall.

“Okay,” he muttered. Niall nodded, his eyes watering with anticipatory tears.

Louis poured the hydrogen peroxide directly onto the wound as Niall’s muffled screams filled the room. From the corner of his eye, Louis could see Harry turn away, his hands covering his face. Refocusing his attention, he packed the wound with gauze before wrapping it up with the roller bandage.

“Keep this dry and clean, alright?” Louis instructed. He had patched up his fair share of wounds in his “career” in the drug trade, having learned at the hands of his father and, later, his father’s associates. Some nights, he wondered if he had missed his calling to go into the medical field, but he shook those thoughts away as quickly as they came.

Niall nodded weakly, his chest heaving.

“I called the others. They should be here soon to help me out,” Niall mumbled. He glanced up at Harry, who stared at him with creased brows. “You and your boy should go.”

Louis looked at Harry before turning back to Niall. If the other members of the crew found out about Harry, it would make him a part of the night’s events. Questions would be asked, answers demanded. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to take Harry far away from the bloodied room, with its cash lying around, its drugs stolen by the area’s stick-up man. He glanced at Harry again. The toes of his brown suede boots that Louis had bought him had smudges of blood on them. Harry had probably stepped into a puddle of the thick metallic-scented liquid when he was pacing. Louis wanted to cry, just watching Harry stand there, scared.

He stood up suddenly, the blood rushing to his head. He reached his hand out blindly for Harry as his vision returned, wanting to take him far away from the stash house.

“Your hands,” Harry said, his voice shaking. “They’ve still got blood on them.”

Louis nodded, before he walked to the kitchen sink in the next room. He furiously rubbed his hands until the water ran from red to clear as he tried to catch his breath. He was known to keep a cool head, but Harry threw off his equilibrium. He wasn’t used to having someone there that needed protection, that needed _him_.

“Niall,” Louis announced as he walked out of the kitchen. “Please don’t say-”

Niall waved him off with his uninjured arm. “Get out of here, Tommo. Explain some other time.”

Louis nodded gratefully as he grabbed Harry’s hand, his own now bloodless, washed clean.

“Let’s go,” he said.

___

Louis liked the chair in the corner of the mystery section. From there, he could see the exits while still being partially obscured by the shelves. Setting himself up for an easy escape was a habit he learned when he was 14. Although he loved the library, he never borrowed books. It wasn’t that he was afraid of the cops tracking his movements. If anything, his regular trips to the library to do nothing but sit and read for hours on end would maybe dissuade them from tracking him. He just liked having a reason to come and spend long afternoons in silence, with nothing but the smell of the musty books and hushed voices to keep him company. Occasionally, he would stop in the adjacent cafe for a cup of tea and a pastry. He liked to sit and watch the people, listen to their conversations about mundane life and watch their facial expressions, so unguarded to the world.

He liked being able to hide in plain sight at the library, a place so unassuming, where he could just be a man who liked to read and not who he really was:

A man with a felony record for possession of controlled substances with the intent to distribute. A man who has been involved in organized crime since he was fourteen years old, whose father taught him the trade and introduced him to “the lifestyle.” A man who has stared down the barrel of the gun, and a man who has held the gun, and with it, someone’s life, in his hands.

Louis lived a complicated life, but for a few hours of his week, he liked to pretend that he didn’t.

He looked up from the book he was reading- some trashy murder mystery with a dash of romance- and saw someone walking in the aisle, torso completely obscured by a stack of books, tall and wobbly. Louis saw the disaster unfold in slow motion as the person tripped over their own toes. As they bumped into the shelf, the books tumbled to the floor, the carpeting muffling the crash. Louis stood abruptly to help pick up the books.

“Oh, um.. Thank you.”

Louis looked up from the book currently in his hands only to find himself staring into green eyes, offset by pale pink blushing cheeks and a timid smile.

Something about the other man made him want to be quiet and gentle. Maybe it was the way his curls fell over his face as he leaned over to pick up his books, or the way his fingers felt as they accidentally brushed against the back of Louis’ hand.

“No problem,” Louis breathed, a beat later.

He glanced down to find that the last book on the floor was one that he had been meaning to read.

“Oh! You have _The Kite Runner_!” Louis exclaimed in a hushed whisper. “I’ve been wanting to read this.”

The man picked it up and pushed it towards him. “Yeah! If you want, you can have-”

“No, no-- you found it first,” Louis countered, pushing it gently back towards him.

“But I’ve got other books,” the man replied, looking down at his rather large pile of books as he sheepishly smiled.

Louis glanced backwards towards his chair and the small table that was sat beside it, covered in an assortment of books.

“So do I, mate,” he smiled, gesturing back towards the table.

“We could read it together?” the man suggested. “Take turns reading it… if you want.”

Louis looked back at his chair and saw that there was another chair close by. He imagined sitting with this man for the remainder of his afternoon, sharing a book between them, the words and pages serving as a bridge in this quiet and isolated section of the library. He imagined them passing the book back and forth while the man’s fingers brushed against his as they poked out from the long sleeves of his jumper. He briefly wondered if the man liked tea, which led to visions of the two of them speaking quietly over piping hot cups like the other cafe-goers that Louis watched so longingly.

“Yeah,” Louis agreed, a bit breathless. “I like that idea.”

The man beamed and held the stack of books tightly in one arm as he gripped the shelf with his other. They walked towards Louis’ corner, although he reasoned that the name of his haven would need to change, now that this man had placed his books alongside Louis’ and had dragged his chair to the other side of the table.

As they both became comfortable in the oversized chairs, the man turned towards Louis with an extended hand.

“I’m Harry,” he said, his gentle eyes looking even greener in the sunlight that streamed in through the wide window.

 _I’m in trouble_ , Louis thought, staring at the rosy lips that were turned up in a smile.

“Louis,” he replied.

 _Oh no_ , he realised when they shook hands and he found himself not wanting to let go.

“You can read first,” Harry offered before looking at the numerous books at his side. “I’ve got other things I can read in the meantime.”

“You sure?” Louis asked. “I mean, you found it first-”

“I don’t really mind,” Harry smiled. He elbowed him as he added on, “It’s not like it’s any hardship having to sit next to you.”

Louis swallowed as he felt his cheeks flush. The innocence of blushing in response to an attractive man felt foreign to him. He glanced down as he tried to tamp down the smile that threatened to overtake his entire face. Shaking his head, he shrugged.

“Alright, hand it over,” he mumbled, trying his hardest to sound unaffected. “We’ll go chapter by chapter, then?”

Harry slid the book across the arm rests.

“Sounds good, Louis,” he answered.

Louis tried to ignore the echo of Harry’s voice saying his name as he stared at the words on the page. A few hours later when they were about a third of the way through the novel, Harry stretched and yawned.

When Louis glanced over, he caught Harry staring at him before he averted his gaze.

“Next time, we should pick one of those quirky romance novels,” Louis murmured. He had thought the novel’s themes of consequence and redemption struck too close to home for what was otherwise a peaceful afternoon. He wondered if there would ever be a day when he would be able to face his choices without wanting to run away.

“I just mean… this book is quite the serious one, yeah?” he explained, forcing a smile onto his face.

Harry grinned as he looked back at Louis, his eyebrows raised. “Next time?”

“Well, Harry, we’ve got about 200 pages left to go, so I’d reckon that’ll take us maybe another afternoon, maybe two,” he explained. Alarms rang in his mind with each word he spoke. Louis couldn’t afford to grow attached to this boy. Someone like Harry had no place wandering into Louis’ complications. And yet, Louis felt helpless to keep playing with fire.

“And this arrangement-- I quite like it,” he continued, like a moth to a flame.

 _Helpless_.

“Yeah?” Harry grinned.

Louis took in Harry’s smiling lips, the way his dimples made his handsome face somehow boyish and innocent. He thought about the way he silently slid the book towards Louis after each chapter, nudging it gently into his arm. The easy silence that had developed between them was unlike anything else in his life. It felt different from the hushed tension that pervaded the stash houses as they spilled measured quantities of drugs into small baggies, or the lack of noise that rang so loudly as they counted mounds of cash in dimly-lit back rooms. This quiet peace felt fuzzy and slow, yet full of potential.

Louis wondered if this was what his customers felt when the high hit their veins. He was hooked on this man beside him, and in his mind, he was already counting down the days until their next meeting.

“Yeah,” Louis echoed.

___

 

It was the way that Harry stared at the guitar in the music store’s window that convinced Louis to return to the shop a day later, cash in hand. Harry had halted mid-step, his head swiveling as he eyed the strings and the gleam of the wooden body.

“What’re you looking at, babe?” Louis had asked, unsure of what was holding his boyfriend’s gaze. The window display held about ten instruments, and they all looked beautiful to him.

“The Martin Authentic 1937 Aged guitar,” Harry marveled. “It’s built to sound vintage.”

Louis nodded appraisingly as he stared at the worn edges near the centre of the guitar.

“Well, how much is it?” he asked.

Harry shook his head and started walking again, tugging Louis behind him.

“Let’s just say it could pay my rent for a few months,” he explained, wistfully looking back at the guitar.

Louis had thought of how Harry might look holding that guitar in his arms, the way the strings would sound as it mixed with his honeyed voice. He made sure to commit the store’s name to memory as they walked away.

A few days later, he told Harry to hide in the bathroom while he brought the guitar into his bedroom. He stood with bated breath as Harry walked into his room, the smile frozen on his face as his eyes grew wide.

“Louis, you can’t be serious,” Harry gasped, running his fingers over the strings and neck of the acoustic Dreadnought guitar. His touch was light as he ran his fingers up the neck and across the body of the guitar which laid in its case on the bed.

“You can pick it up and play it, if you want,” Louis smiled, gesturing towards the instrument. “It’s yours.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, his face incredulous. He sat down on his bed, placing his hands in his lap nervously. He looked up at Louis as his jaw dropped open.

“These are so expensive though!” he remarked. He shook his head in wonder. “I… I can’t accept this.”

Louis kneeled in front of Harry and placed his hands on his knees.

“Baby,” he murmured. “I bought it for you. It’s yours to keep.”

“Do you know how much these cost?” Harry whispered. His brows furrowed as he glanced down at the guitar. “Louis… this had to be close to ten grand.”

Louis didn’t need Harry to know that he earned close to ten grand each week in his line of work. Harry didn’t need to worry about how he earned his money. If it were up to Louis, Harry wouldn’t have to worry about anything.

“I know how much it cost, Harry-- I bought it, remember?” Louis quipped. He brushed the back of Harry’s hand with his thumb. “Now, stop your worrying, and play me a song.”

Harry looked up, and Louis knew that he’d keep the guitar, just as he had kept the new water heater that Louis insisted Harry keep when his old one broke. The same thing had happened when Louis had presented him with silk shirts that brought out the green in his eyes or the rose hues of his mouth, the leather boots that Harry now wore everywhere, and that emerald-coloured face serum that Harry had been eyeing longingly one day when they had walked through town. Because when Harry looked up, his eyes were darker than usual, the greens overpowered by the blacks of his pupils.

As much as he protested the lavish gifts, Harry liked being treated well. He was Louis’ baby, and he knew it.

This isn’t to say that Louis infantilized him or made him feel dependent. Harry still taught a full schedule of private piano and guitar students at the local music school. He still insisted on living in his threadbare flat, with its drafty windows, exposed baseboards, and absent landlord. Harry’s life did not revolve around Louis’, and he didn’t feel the need to please him. Louis bought him things, expensive things that Harry would never dream of owning on his meagre music teacher salary, but Louis knew deep down that he was the one who was more likely to fall to his knees.

Harry was his weakness.

“You’re like my sugar daddy,” Harry had joked one night, as he stroked the delicate silk scarf that Louis had just gifted him. After folding it up and placing it neatly on his bedside table, he reached over and untied Louis’ other wrist, which was bound to the headboard with yet another silk scarf.

“I’m no daddy,” Louis had replied, rubbing his left wrist gently as Harry kissed his right one. “I just like giving my nice boyfriend very nice things.”

Harry rubbed his thumb against Louis’ bottom lip.

“Alright, fine. But you _are_ sweet like sugar,” he had murmured. He rolled his eyes, as Louis had taken his thumb into his mouth, his teeth grazing the skin softly. “My sweet Louis.”

Harry took the guitar out of the case with careful hands, strumming a few chords lightly. His hair fell across his face as he looked down at the strings.

“What do you want to hear?” he asked, the arpeggios slowing to a halt as he gazed at Louis.

Sitting on the floor, Louis leaned back against the bed, his head resting against Harry’s thigh. “How about that one you played me the other day?”

Harry’s eyes lit up in recognition as he nodded. “Love that one.”

I love _you_ , Louis thought abruptly. His face flushed as he clamped his mouth closed, afraid that the words would fly out against his will. He couldn’t give more than he already has to Harry, or else there would be none left for the lifestyle that demanded everything of him. Harry had seen him wake up in a cold sweat, fleeing from night terrors, more than once, and yet, he still remained at his side. The lines between what he was outside of these walls and who he could be when he was with Harry were wearing thin as they continued to cross, the lines melding into a blurred mess.

“Sweetheart, dance with me,” Louis’ father used to ask his mother. He, like Louis with Harry, was weightless and unguarded with her, as he spun her around their living room, her laugh echoing through their house.

“Play it for me, sweetheart,” Louis asked, his tone gentle the way it only was with Harry.

As Harry began to sing, “ _We said we'd walk together baby, come what may_ ,” Louis stared down at his hands, his vision blurring. He blinked and rubbed his eyes quickly, hoping that Harry didn’t notice. When he looked up, Harry’s eyes were squeezed shut as his full voice filled the small bedroom.

“ _But each lover's steps fall so differently. But I'll wait for you. And if I should fall behind, wait for me_ ,” Harry sang. He opened his eyes at the end of the phrase and smiled shyly at Louis before glancing back down at the strings. Even with the curls resting against his face, Louis could tell that he was blushing. He ignored the ache in his chest and forced a smile on his face.

 _Look at what it asks of you. Look at all it takes away_ , he thought.

___

 

The cafe attached to the library was especially busy on rainy afternoons. The tea, the sweet taste of pastries, the constant roar of the coffee grinders, and the steam rising from each cup seemed to drive away the dreary weather. When Louis walked into the cafe, he scanned the busy room for the man whose face had become increasingly familiar over the past few weeks. Over their past few meetings, Louis had tried to learn every version of his smile, how his eyes looked in different lights, the way his hair curled and waved in different directions.

He liked his face. He found himself thinking about it more and more each day. When he would toss and turn in his empty bed, he thought of Harry’s smile, his dimples. The man embodied beauty in a way that few things in Louis’ life did. It was the kind of beauty that rang out as genuine, uncontrived, rarer than the emeralds and rubies that Louis could easily buy with his hoards of cash, if he were the type of person to wear flashy jewelry. He left that for the flashier members of his organisation.

But more than just his looks, Harry had a way about him that intrigued Louis. He knew that he was long gone, from the moment he stood up without question to help him pick up his books.

He liked the way his hands moved as he spoke, the many tattoos peeking out from under his shirt hinting at Louis that there was still so much more to learn. He had also taken to remembering the sound of his voice, often replaying their conversations in his head as he tried falling asleep each night.

They were nearing the end of reading _The Kite Runner_ during their second meeting in the library when Louis’ stomach growled. Harry had asked him if he wanted to grab some tea and a scone, and although Louis’ instincts told him not to let this go any further than the confines of their corner of the library, he found himself nodding eagerly.

Throughout their first trip to the cafe, Louis told himself that they were just new acquaintances drinking tea together. As he fought back a smile in response to Harry’s bad jokes and the way the foam rested on the tip of his nose, he told himself that Harry was just a friendly person whose company he enjoyed. He told himself to sip up their time together slowly, carefully.

“This is a trite question, but what do you do?” Harry had asked him that first afternoon in the cafe.

“I work for a start-up company,” Louis had told him slowly, forming the words as he went along. “We deliver things.”

“Like, food? Newspapers?”

Louis thought about his countless drives throughout the city, dropping off bags of heroin and cocaine. His hands felt dirty as images of all those countless nights counting wads of cash sprung to his mind. He blinked.

“Yeah. Food, drinks. Sometimes other... household goods.”

“Oh!” Harry smiled as his eyes lit up. “Like a convenience store on wheels. That’s clever!”

Louis returned with a tight-lipped grin and took a deep sip of his tea. “And what about you? What do you do?” he asked, desperate to change the subject.

Harry had told him that he was a musician, first and foremost, but that he made money by teaching private lessons at a local music school.

“It’s shit money,” he had explained, his cheeks tinging pink. “It’s why I’m always at the library- it’s free.”

Louis had paid for their tea and muffins the next time they saw each other, and the next week, he had insisted on taking Harry out for dinner at a place with cloth napkins.

He had told himself to sip his metaphorical tea carefully, but instead, he had drowned it all in one scalding gulp. And when he saw Harry sitting in the corner of the cafe by the window, tracing the raindrops with his fingertip, he clung to the edge of the cliff and willed himself not to fall. But when Harry turned to him after Louis called him name, a smile overtaking his face as he stood up and pulled him close into a hug, Louis knew that he was already at the bottom.

“Have you heard of the Trolley Problem?” Harry asked him that rainy afternoon, two cups of tea, a scone, and chocolate croissant between them. Louis took a sip of his milky tea before shaking his head.

“What’s that?” he asked.

Harry explained that the Trolley Problem was a thought experiment on ethics and moral psychology. It posed the question: Would you rather kill one person and save five by pulling a lever which will divert the trolley to a different set of tracks? Or would you rather do nothing to stop the trolley from killing five people?

“That’s rather morbid,” Louis replied, even though in his head, he thought about his own kill count, which had surpassed five people long ago with no lives saved to balance it out. “Which would you do?”

“I’d pull the lever,” Harry answered matter-of-factly. “And then, I’d try to yell at the other person to get out of the way.”

“But if you’re unsuccessful?”

“I saved five people’s lives, at least,” Harry shrugged.

“Pulling the lever seems like… a lot of responsibility,” Louis thought aloud. “It’s as if you’re messing with fate if you pull it, instead of letting the trolley just run its course.”

Harry bit into his scone and nodded as he considered Louis’ argument.

Louis continued, sitting up straighter. “Who’s to say that it’s your role to mess with fate like that? If you pull the lever, then you have that man’s blood on your hands, but if you leave it be, it was going to happen anyway. Right?”

He bit his lip and studied Harry’s face for any reaction. His mind swirled as he tried to reason why he felt so strongly about his stance, and it made his gut twist.

Harry leaned forward, his eyes lighting up. “That’s what some philosophers argue- that switching the trolley to the other track and killing one person is still participating in a moral wrong.”

“So either way, someone’s screwed, and you’re still a bad person,” Louis laughed, throwing his hands up.

“I wouldn’t place a value judgment- it’s all relative,” Harry reassured him. “Some philosophers would argue that human lives are incommensurable- it is impossible to say that five lives are more valuable than one life because they are not all equal.”

Louis scrunched his nose. “Well, that doesn’t sit well with me, either.”

He tried to ignore the nagging voice inside of his head that screamed ‘ _Hypocrite_!’ at him by focusing on the taste of the tea on his lips, the way that Harry’s hands waved through the air as he spoke. Here, in this cafe, with Harry sitting across from him, he could pretend like his moral compass hadn’t been eroded over the years.

“Yeah, there definitely is a slippery slope component to that,” Harry smiled. “But that’s just the first iteration of the Trolley Problem. The second one adds in another element.”

“Oh, no,” Louis smiled as he cocked his eyebrow. He leaned closer to Harry. “Alright, what is it?”

“So, it starts the same way. You see a trolley hurtling down the track and heading for five people. But this time, standing next to you, is one very large man. He’s large enough to stop the trolley. You can stop the trolley from killing five people if you just push the large man onto the tracks,” Harry explained.

Louis exhaled slowly and shook his head.

“It’s the same for me,” he decided, his answer coming out slowly. “You’d still have blood on your hands.”

As he spoke, he thought of the people he’s shot at, uncaring if his bullets have killed them. He thought of the people who find him and members of his organisation and purchase chemicals that kill them slowly. He has killed the five people, and he has killed the one man on the tracks. He has pushed the large man onto the tracks, over and over again.

His hands were bloody, and he could not say for sure which was better. But in playing this thought experiment with Harry on this rainy day, he yearned for a life where his hands were clean.

Harry nodded in understanding. “Your response there is more common- for some reason, more people feel disgusted with the idea of actively pushing someone and killing them to save lives.”

“It’s different when you’re the one pulling the trigger,” Louis said.

“Pulling a lever is more passive,” Harry reasoned. “Neuroscientists have shown that the part of the brain that is activated when people people decide to pull the lever is more primitive than the part of the brain that lights up in people who choose to push the man. That part is more in the frontal lobe- it’s a more advanced decision, ethically at least.”

Louis thought of the first sale he made, the first time he passed off a small baggie of opiates in exchange for a wad of cash. The person’s eyes had faced the sidewalk, littered with glass and weeds. A stab of guilt pulsed through him, but over time, the guilt ebbed. Perhaps being able to rationalise his crimes was a sign that he was human after all.

“Junkies,” his father had told him when he was fourteen, “are gonna find a way to buy the product. You might as well make money off of them. Our product is the best- it’s not cut with anything dangerous. Better us than some other crew, yeah?”

“But either way, it’s wrong,” Louis said quietly. He sipped his tea, tired of rationalising his decisions. “There is no easy answer though.”

“And that,” Harry shrugged, “is why it’s called a dilemma.”

___

 

Cigarette smoke furled into the air of the back room of the laundromat. Louis sat at a table, wads of money in front of him, separated into piles of one thousand pounds each. Zayn, another associate, sat by his side.

“Haven’t seen you around in awhile,” Zayn mumbled, cigarette dangling from his lips.

Louis hid the tremor in his hands by focusing on the money in his hand, the feel of it, the smell of it. Becoming hyperfocused on the moment at hand had always been his way of maintaining his cool under pressure.

“Gee, Malik,” he retorted. He took a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. “You missed me?”

“Fuck off,” Zayn muttered with a smile. “Just an observation.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Been busy, that’s all.”

Zayn glanced up at him curiously. “Yeah? Doing what?”

Louis remembered the ache in his stomach from laughing so hard with Harry the night before. Harry had challenged him to a dance-off, and Louis was never one to tell his boy “no.” They had spun around his small living room, music blasting, before they fell to bed. Louis had almost forgotten what it was like to spend his nights in dingy back rooms, his hands dirty from the grime-covered money.

“What’s with all the fucking questions, Zayn?” Louis asked, putting the wad of cash down on the table.

Zayn shrugged, his face impassive as ever. “Don’t mean any offense, Tommo. Just wondering where you’ve been.”

Louis was about to shoot back his response, when his phone rang. Zayn looked at him, his brow raised. He kept counting the cash as Louis stood up to go to the adjacent room.

“Yeah,” Louis answered, his voice low as he held the phone to his ear.

“What’s been going on with you?” the voice on the other end of the line asked. Louis held the disposable phone to his ear and tried to steady his breathing.

“What do you mean?” Louis replied, as his mind raced with thoughts of Harry, Harry, Harry.

“Your head just seems like it’s not in the game right now,” the man explained. “You’ve been distant lately.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Louis protested weakly.

“The other day, you were late with the pick-ups and drop-offs. And you missed my call the other night.”

Louis had been at Harry’s that night, his phone long forgotten in the back pocket of his jeans which laid useless on his bedroom floor.

“What is that buzzing?” Harry had asked, his body going still on top of him. Louis had lazily rolled his hips up.

“Ignore it,” he had urged, squeezing Harry’s arse. “C’mon, baby, don’t stop.”

Harry’s eyes rolled back as he nodded. He resumed his rhythm, twisting his hips in figure eights before he rose to his knees and dropped back down, pulling a low moan from Louis.

“Alright,” Harry had breathed in reply. “Yeah…”

“I must’ve just not heard it,” Louis told the voice on the other end, the echoes of their moans and whimpers replaying in his mind. “It won’t happen again.”

“Lou, if you need-”

“I don’t need anything,” Louis interrupted. “My head’s in the game.”

“Yeah? No distractions?”

“What would be distracting me?” Louis asked, laughing lightly. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and hoped his voice came across as calm.

The voice on the other line hesitated, and all Louis could hear was his breathing. “I don’t know, Lou, but whatever it is, don’t try and hide it from me.”

Louis closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the wall. He owed the man his life. He would likely be on the streets, destitute, or working a shitty-paying job, if it wasn’t for this man on the other line. He knew that all he asked for was transparency and loyalty. A few more years, and Louis could leave the game, a new class of soldiers taking his place.

A few more years was all the man asked for.

“I’m not hiding anything,” Louis insisted, blinking back images of Harry’s smiling face in the morning, the way he looked as he kissed him for the first time against his front door, the quiet space that existed between them when they read through old books in their corner of the library, the times that Louis would just stare at Harry while he slept in a state of meditative calm as he watched his chest rise and fall.

“Alright,” the voice on the other line breathed. “You could tell me though.”

“Yeah, I know,” Louis answered. His father and the other man’s father had started this organisation. They had grown up together, risen through the ranks. Louis was his right-hand man, the medical team, the brains, and occasionally the muscle. He would die for this man, and he wanted to believe that the man would die for him. But when it came to a business that brought in millions each month, he wondered if there was a limit to loyalty, if the line to be crossed was closer to Louis than he had thought.

The organisation was embedded into Louis’ very core. It was written into his skin, into the way he walked through the world. He never knew any other way. He had let go of any expectations that he would ever be anything but a drug dealer. He had liked school enough, but he liked the allure of making his father proud and the money that came along with that pride even more. Meeting Harry was like opening a door to a different version of himself, one where he could be the person he perhaps saw himself becoming when he was eleven or twelve. With Harry, his movements could be quiet and gentle, his hands could be used for something other than pain. Who he was when he was with Harry was the opposite of who he needed to be in every other aspect of his life.

Somewhere along the way, the lines had crossed.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he knew he had to return to the role that he had been given instead of the one he truly wanted. He started to imagine a life where he slept in his bed alone, where he no longer got to hear Harry sing as he cooked dinner. A life where his nights were filled with managing their business fronts and his days were spent checking on the boys who ran their corners. Where he could no longer be the person that Harry thought he was, who he thought he could become.

“Don’t worry,” Louis repeated, his voice dull to his ears. “My head’s in the game.”

___

 

Louis could see the light in Harry’s window from where he parked each night. He usually left the engine idle, only staying long enough to catch a glimpse of Harry. He liked knowing that he was safe inside of his flat each night.

Harry still came and went the way he did when he was Louis’, leaving at the same time for his lessons and returning at roughly the same time each evening. Sometimes, he had bags of groceries in his hands, stumbling up the stairs with his keys in hand. Other times, he trudged up the steps with his head down, worn-down and dejected. Still, other days, he seemed bright and alert, his face appearing like it was on the verge of a smile.

Despite his daily visits to Harry’s street, Louis hadn’t yet seen a real smile though-- at least, nothing like the kinds he saw when they were together. The circles under Harry’s eyes and the downturned purse of his lips stung Louis to see. No longer could he reach out and hold him until his full lips curled upwards, or kiss him until he fell asleep. Harry was no longer his to care for. Louis had made sure of that weeks before.

Louis knew that his behavior wasn’t normal or healthy. He didn’t like feeling like he was doing a stakeout on his former boyfriend, but he couldn’t sleep without knowing if Harry was still safe. He needed to know that no one had caught a whiff that Harry was involved in his life, that no one would capitalise on Louis’ one weakness to hurt him or his crew. Although he himself felt like he was barely breathing each day, he needed to know that Harry still walked the earth, that he still woke up each morning and fell asleep every night. Even if Harry looked sad now, Louis still hoped that with time, his sadness would fade. That he might stop hurting, that he would somehow forget about Louis and their time together. Louis, ever a skeptic, started praying that somehow God would transfer Harry’s pain to him, the cause of Harry’s sadness.

In the darkness of their final night together, Louis had stayed awake while Harry fell asleep beside him. Waiting until his breathing evened out, Louis gazed down on Harry’s unburdened face. He looked so young when he slept, his lips falling open, his hand extended towards Louis as if reaching for him even in his dreams. Louis studied every centimetre of Harry’s face, each sharp line that cut across the soft expanse of skin, in hopes that he would be able to memorise every detail. He knew that he would be thinking of Harry, the way his voice sounded when he said his name. During those nights when the gun rested cold and heavy in his hands, when grime covered his fingertips after counting wads of cash, when he had to talk to the fourteen and fifteen year olds on how to properly run a corner, when he oversaw members of his organisation eliminate “complications” with ease-- during those moments, he knew that he would think of Harry and remember that the world could also be beautiful.

That night, after memorising his final moments with Harry, he had silently and slowly lowered his feet to the floor of Harry’s bedroom. Carefully, he dressed himself, first pulling on his jeans, making sure that his keys did not jingle from their place in his pocket. He slipped on his belt before tugging his shirt back over his head. In the complete darkness from inside his shirt, he let the tears spring to his eyes, but as his head emerged, he did his best to blink them away. Clasping a hand over his mouth as tears fell freely from his eyes, he picked up his shoes. As he held them in his hands, he tiptoed towards the door. Over the last few visits, he had taken note of exactly when Harry’s door started to squeak, and on that night, he opened it in silence. It was only when he was in the hallway that he allowed himself to look back at Harry’s sleeping figure.

Harry’s bashful smile when he had dropped all of his books on the library floor. The way his eyes lit up when they had finished reading their first book together. The way his eyelashes fluttered shut when he sang the songs he wrote for Louis. His voice when he told Louis about his favorite students, about his mother and stepfather. His loud laugh when Louis took him dancing, the way he placed his hand low on Louis’ back and held him close enough that Louis finally felt safe to close his eyes in public. How his hand fit in Louis’ as they drove too fast throughout the city, his hair whipping because of the rush of air pouring in from the open windows. How he had whispered again and again that he loved him, knowing that Louis could never say it back.

Louis loved him, that much was certain.

And it was because of his love that he took a deep breath and walked out of the flat. Woodenly, he walked back to his car and began to drive home. Only when he reached the inside of his own flat did he fall to the floor, collapsing under the weight of the love he kept hidden.

 _It has asked everything of me_ , he realised, _and it has taken everything away._

 

___

 

A piano played softly in the distance, a backdrop for the low hum of conversation that filled the restaurant. The whole room was aglow with candlelight as soft shadows splashed across the cream-coloured walls. Louis watched as Harry ran his hands across the white tablecloth.

“I hope you’re hungry,” he said. “This place makes really good food.”

As Harry perused the menu, his eyes grew wide. Exhaling slowly, he said, “Bloody hell... this place is… fancy.”

Louis placed his hand on top of Harry’s arm. “My treat. Order whatever you want.”

Harry studied Louis’ face as his face blushed.

“Is this a date?” he asked as he bit his lip.

After a few afternoons in the library and the cafe, Louis realised with a sinking feeling that he wanted more time with Harry. He wanted to take him for more than just tea and pastries. He found himself wondering what Harry looked like under the light of a street lamp, what his lips would taste like after a glass or two of wine. He just wanted more of Harry.

“If you'd like it to be,” Louis answered, his smile hesitant but hopeful.

Dimples appeared as Harry’s smile grew wider. He shook his head. “‘If I’d like it to be…’ Louis, of course I would!”

Louis let out a relieved laugh.

“You can’t blame me for wondering why someone like you would want to have dinner with me,” he explained.

Harry kept smiling as he looked down at the menu.

“Keep taking me to places like this, and I’ll keep saying yes,” he quipped.

Louis smiled back, knowing that he would spoil Harry senseless if he had the chance. There was only so much money he could spend on himself before catching the attention of the police. Most of it sat in storage units, untouched.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Mr. Styles,” he replied before taking a slow sip of water. Their eyes met over the rim of the glass. Heat spread through his face and down the back of his neck and chest. He cleared his throat and set the glass down. “How were your lessons today?”

Harry’s smile flirted with becoming a full-on smirk as he observed Louis’ reaction. His index finger slowly ran up the stem of the wine glass.

“They were good,” he replied a moment later, his tone casual. “I had my first guitar lesson with this 10 year old girl.”

“Yeah? Is she any good?” Louis asked after he thanked the server, who had dropped off a basket of artisanal breads.

“Lou, it was her first lesson!”

“What! Some kids are just... naturals. You can tell right off the bat!” he joked, even as he remembered his own father telling him that he was a natural after he started off as a runner on one of the slower corners in their territory. “You either have it or you don’t.”

“I can’t go around saying that though, can I? I’m a music teacher! I believe in _all_ of my students,” Harry elaborated, biting back a smile.

“You can tell me though,” Louis conspired, grinning mischievously. “C’mon. You have to have a kid who is just… not good.”

Harry giggled as he shook his head. “You’re an asshole.”

“I know,” Louis agreed, rolling his eyes. “I’m just kidding, Curly. It’s noble work you’re doing.”

The candlelight and the flush in his cheeks melted together into a moment that reminded Louis of a sunset.

“I try,” Harry replied, shrugging.

“Kids need someone to inspire them. Someone to encourage them to be their best selves,” Louis explained.

Harry leaned forward and tilted his head. “Who was that person for you?”

Louis’ smile froze on his face.

“My mum.”

He remembered the way she would walk him to school and help him with his homework, her voice gentle as she helped him with his spelling and reading. He thought of her smile and the way it took over her whole face, how she would laugh at his antics when he would put on fake plays with his toy soldiers.

Harry eyes lit up. “Me too! You’re close with her, then?”

Louis cleared his throat. “I was,” he mumbled. “She’s passed.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry winced, chewing on his lip. “I’m sure you’re making her proud though.”

Louis laughed nervously. “Yeah. Not so sure about that, but that’s a nice thought.”

Harry’s brow furrowed, but before he could reply, Louis interrupted. Thinking about his mum was too painful, even though her death was more than ten years ago. In many ways, it was the catalyst for the trajectory that Louis followed. It was the pulled lever, and Louis’ final shreds of innocence were the man on the tracks.

“I think that’s a story we can save for our tenth date,” he suggested lightly. Inside, he pleaded that Harry would drop the subject.

“Tenth date? A bit presumptuous, don’t you think?” Harry teased. Louis let out an internal sigh of relief that Harry was willing to change the subject for him.

“I’m a determined kind of lad,” Louis avowed, forcing a casual smile on his face. “And this date’s going well so far, right?”

“I’ll make that call at the end of the night,” Harry said playfully.

And later that night, as they stood at the entrance to Harry’s building, Harry murmured, “That was a good date,” before pulling Louis closer until they were a breath apart.

“Good enough to get me a second one?” Louis asked quietly.

Harry nodded as he brushed his lips against Louis’.

“Yeah,” he whispered, blinking his eyes open so that Louis could feel his lashes against his face. “And maybe a third.”

Louis kissed him again, his hands lightly gripping Harry’s waist. As they kissed, he let his eyes fall closed, the slide of their lips tethering him to where they stood. He ignored the nagging fear that someone would spot him and focused instead on the feel of Harry’s tongue licking against his, of the sound of Harry’s gasp as he bit gently on his full bottom lip.

A few short moments of soft kisses with this soft beautiful boy, and Louis was already gone.

___

 

Harry’s eyes stared vacantly at his trembling hands. His shoulders hunched forward as his spine curved in on itself, as if he was trying to make himself smaller and smaller in his fear.

“You can’t tell anyone,” Louis intoned.

Harry’s head shot up as he glared at Louis. “Or else what?” he countered. “You’ll shoot me?”

His eyes burned as he realised that Harry now saw him in his true form- a callous monster to be feared. A flare of anger burst into flames in Louis’ chest. He bit the inside of his mouth as he grit his teeth. He pressed the accelerator harder, wanting to get to Harry’s flat. He wanted to be inside of their oasis, away from the world that seemed intent on sapping everything good away from him. As he counted down the blocks until they reached his street, he could feel the canyon between them widening. It was as if their moments together were fading away, slipping from his fingers as he was helpless to do nothing but watch.

Finally, he pulled in front of Harry’s building. Shutting the engine off roughly, he turned towards Harry.

“I would _never_ hurt you,” he vowed, his brows creased.

“But you’ve hurt other people?” Harry whispered. “You’ve got a gun… you’re….”

Louis’ lip quivered as he looked away out the window. The streetlights and the squirrels walking along the sidewalk painted an inordinately boring picture for such a shattering moment. He looked around at the neighborhood and realised that boring meant safe. Harry deserved safe.

“You can walk away. No one knows about you,” he whispered, his face heating up as his throat thickened. “No one will hurt you, if you go now.”

“What are you saying?” Harry asked, his eyes glassy. As Harry started to reach out towards him, Louis felt the first tear fall from his eye. He shook his head.

“They’ll find a way to hurt you,” he whimpered as he stared out the window.

“I’m already hurting,” Harry cried. He ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his eyes. “How could you not tell me?”

Louis’ jaw dropped as he looked back at Harry with narrowed eyes.

“ _Tell_ you? Oh, hello, m’ name’s Louis. I’m second-in-command of one of the biggest drug distribution rings in London. I’ve killed, oh, I don’t know, maybe five, ten people, and that’s just with my gun! Who knows how many more I’ve killed because I gave them drugs? Got them hooked on my product! If you’re free this afternoon, would you like to grab a drink?”

Harry shook his head, as sadness creased onto his face. Louis kept on, his voice rising.

“I know you said you’re a music teacher! I’ve taught kids too! Taught them how to count ounces, how to count money in their heads! Taught them how to fire guns and how to run from the cops. Taught them how to survive in prison, because, yeah, I’ve been there too! Just got out on good behavior after 5 years!”

“Stop,” Harry whimpered, once again trying to reach out to him.

“You would’ve run away if you knew! This was all a mistake,” Louis cried, his head falling to his hands. “I can’t have you around now. I can’t do that to you.”

“It’s not that easy,” Harry murmured.

Louis looked up and used the back of his hand to wipe his face. He grasped onto Harry’s hands.

“Harry, love, this should be the easiest decision of your life. Walk away from this now. Get yourself a _good_ person. One you could actually be with.”

“But I wanna be with you,” Harry whispered, reaching out to wipe the tears from Louis’ face. “Lou, I love-”

Louis shook his head and backed away from Harry. He could feel the car’s walls closing in on him, the air hot and hard to swallow as he gasped.

“Don’t,” he choked.

Harry grabbed his hands. “Louis, I love you-”

“No, no- you can’t-”

“I can, and I do-”

“Baby, they’ll hurt you-”

“I’m not helpless! I can-”

Louis squeezed his eyes shut as he remembered what they did to his mother, how they found her mangled body in an abandoned lot. The sky had been bright with white clouds, the sun only slightly obscured. Weeds and tall overgrown grass provided a flimsy cover for her body. Louis remembered running up to the gathering crowd before someone grabbed his arm and pulled him in the opposite direction.

“This way, lad,” a man who was close to his father had instructed, his voice shaking. “Not anything you should be seeing.”

The pitying eyes of the crowd had set off alarms in Louis’ eyes as he tried to see over their shoulders and heads. Even at fourteen, he was still small for his age, and the crowd had formed a barrier around whatever was lain in the lot. It was only when his father arrived that the crowd parted. Louis swallowed the bile that threatened to rise as he remembered the way his father collapsed on the sidewalk after letting out a piercing scream, how he was gone for a few hours only to return covered in blood. Louis remembered his father holding his head high as the police took him away in handcuffs.

“You don’t know what they can do! What they have done!” Louis shouted, his fist pounding the dashboard of the car. “They killed my mum, just to hurt my dad. It’s a war, Harry!”

Harry’s chest heaved with each breath.

“You’re more than just this,” he whispered.

Louis shook his head, his hand grasping at the car door handle.

“I’m not a good person, Harry. You don’t really know me.”

Harry let out a breath before he leaned over. Grabbing Louis’ face, he kissed him until they were breathless.

“That’s a goddamn lie, Louis. I _know_ you,” he whispered. “And I love you.”

Louis met Harry’s stare. His eyes blazed with conviction, and he didn’t turn away when their gazes locked. He could feel Harry’s breath against his face and the warmth of his hands as they held him close.

“But why?” Louis asked, his voice cracking. “Why do you love me?”

Harry brushed his lips against Louis’ cheekbone before kissing the tips of his lashes and the scar above his eyebrow. His lips a breath away from Louis’ parted mouth, he nodded.

“Dunno. I just do,” he whispered, his eyes shining. “I just love you.”

The dam inside of Louis’ chest burst, and he fell into Harry’s arms. With quaking shoulders, he buried his face in Harry’s chest, as Harry’s arms wrapped tightly around him. In his arms, Louis gasped for air and let his eyes fall closed.

 _I just want this,_ he thought. _This, forever_.

They stumbled up to Harry’s flat, dizzy on their feet, their legs weak. Falling to his bed, Louis tore his shirt off and kicked his jeans to the floor. He wanted to be rid of everything that had blood on it. Naked against Harry’s sheets, and then, against his body, he finally felt clean.

“I love you,” Harry murmured, his lips blazing a trail down Louis’ neck and torso. He kissed across Louis’ chest, kissing each letter, each scar. The words rang out when he took Louis into his mouth, each slide of the tongue washing Louis clean from the stains his life had left. When Harry entered him, he gasped out a moan as his hands drew him closer. His lips brushed against the skin below Louis’ ear, and his voice was barely a whisper.

“I love you,” he repeated.

Louis pressed his lips firmly against Harry’s temple before kissing down his neck. Burying his face in Harry’s shoulder, he wrapped his arms around his torso, just wanting him nearer. Maybe if he held him against his beating chest, Harry would feel the words that he held inside.

“Love,” Harry whispered, resting their foreheads together. His hips moved faster as Louis hitched his knees higher against Harry’s sides. The fairy lights strung all along the walls cast a halo around Harry’s face, and Louis wanted to see him in that light one more time. He wanted to see Harry move above him as his body weaved magic through the air.

Louis didn’t believe in magic, but for Harry, he did.

As Harry’s hips met his once more, he let his hands slide up his thighs, across his stomach, up his chest. He closed his eyes and let his fingertips direct his path, trying to memorise the feel of Harry’s skin as he moved. Harry leaned forward as he wrapped his arms around Louis’s shoulders, bringing their bodies even closer. Moaning, he placed his head against Louis’ heart as he mouthed against his chest and neck.

“Close,” he breathed.

Louis caressed his hips before his hands danced their way up his back. Kissing him firmly, he squeezed his eyes shut, hot tears falling to the pillow below.

“Harry,” he whimpered as he blinked his eyes open. As he touched Harry’s face, Harry nuzzled his palm. Tangling his fingers in his curls, Louis could feel the words bubble up from his chest.

“Harry, I…” he whispered as Harry kissed his palm.

“I know, Lou,” Harry replied. He grabbed onto the headboard, his hips pumping into him rapidly. “I know.”

Louis wasn’t sure that Harry knew, so with his hands gripping Harry’s waist, he began to grind his hips. With each thrust, he drew out another moan, another cry. He couldn’t love Harry in all the ways that he deserved, but he could give him this.

As he watched Harry come undone, the lights glowing all around him, he bit back the words, the words like a silent scream with every beat of his racing heart.

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

___

 

“It’s open!” Harry shouted from the other side of his flat’s door. From where he stood in the hallway, Louis could smell rosemary and thyme and the comforting scent of potatoes baking in the oven.

Opening the door, he saw Harry taking a baked chicken out from the oven. His hair was held back by a green scarf, and his skin was tinged pink from the heat in the kitchen. An old Beatles album played on a record player in the living room.

“It’s nearly done, babe,” Harry greeted as he checked the reading on the meat thermometer.

Louis stood behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist. He buried his face in the spot between his shoulder blades, breathing in deeply. Harry smelled like a mix of cedar and vanilla, the smallest hint of sweat blended in. Louis kissed the back of Harry’s neck.

“Mm,” he sighed. “I’m so glad I’m here.”

Harry turned around in his arms and held Louis’ face as he kissed him. Louis closed his eyes and let Harry kiss away the images and sounds from earlier that day, the cries of the man tied up in a chair in an abandoned warehouse, the sound of his bones cracking as Louis swung a bat to his legs.

“I’m glad you’re here too,” Harry smiled.

Louis closed his eyes and rested his head against Harry’s shoulder, shoving down the guilt and the shame, knowing that Harry would be horrified to know how Louis had spent his afternoon.

“I brought wine,” he told him, pulling away to point at the bottle on the counter. As they poured the red liquid into the glasses, Louis blinked back images of the blood stains on the warehouse’s concrete floors. Harry held the glass up in a toast.

“I was gonna toast to our tenth date, but I’ve actually lost count,” he confessed.

Louis smiled with the realisation that it has been a few months since they first met that afternoon in the library. Over the moments that became weeks and then months, Harry had become a fixture in Louis’ turbulent life. Entering his flat meant that he could leave behind the darkness that covered everything else in his life. Harry, with his pigeon toes and bare feet, his generous kisses and the old scarves he used to hold back his boyish curls, his vinyl collection and warm embraces-- Harry was the light in his life. When he looked at Louis with his gentle eyes, wide and unafraid, Louis’s life washed away. All that was left was Louis and all he could be, all he wanted to be:

Kind and gentle, and funny, and calm. Unafraid of what might come next. When Harry held him, whether they were moving against each other in bed or dancing to old records in his living room, Louis felt reckless enough to close his eyes. He felt brave enough to dream of something more than what his life had given him so far.

A few glasses later, Louis’ face hurt from laughing so much. He wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes as he stared at Harry’s gangly limbs spin through the living room. Harry had rhythm and enthusiasm working in his favour each time he tried to dance, but he knew that he lacked the grace necessary to look anything but silly.

“Okay, your turn,” Harry beamed as he gulped a sip of wine.

“My turn?” Louis laughed. “My turn to do what?”

“We’re having a _dance-off_ , Louis,” Harry explained. “I just showed you my best moves. So, now it’s your turn.”

Louis smiled and pulled Harry closer, kissing his cheek. He set his wineglass down and rolled his neck, shaking out his legs.

“Prepare yourself,” Louis warned. “I’m an _excellent_ dancer.”

He closed his eyes as he began to move his feet to the beat of the song. He could hear Harry hoot and clap, his laughter ringing clear over the blaring music. Louis spun in a circle before bowing.

“How was that?” Louis asked, his cheeks heated with wine and embarrassment.

“C’mere,” Harry gushed, holding his hand out for Louis to take. He pulled Louis closer, placing his hand on his hip. They ended up swaying as Harry kissed Louis’ forehead.

“I like you like this,” he mumbled. “Light and happy.”

Louis nudged their noses together. “You make me happy.”

Harry shook his head. “No, I mean,” he elaborated. “You don’t seem afraid. Or stressed right now.”

Louis did not know how to explain that the fear lived relentlessly under his surface. That the wine and Harry’s smiles and his kisses, the feel of his arms holding him securely, just buried it for a short while before it bubbled to the surface.

That night, when Louis stirred awake with images of mangled bodies in abandoned fields, of needles and dead eyes, Harry ran a comforting hand across his creased brow.

“You’re okay,” he whispered. “Just a bad dream, love.”

Louis couldn’t possibly tell him that his nightmares were not just dreams but memories of the horrors he had witnessed, of horrors that he had played a role in crafting.

“What if I’m not the person you think I am?” Louis whispered, his voice shaking from guilt and from the cold sweat that covered his body.

Harry ran a flannel across Louis’ forehead and down his neck. “What d’you mean?” he asked, his voice barely a murmur in the hushed quiet of the midnight hour.

“I’ve…” Louis began, feeling his chest heave as the truth threatened to rise. The temptation to lay everything bare pulled at him. He wanted to feel light, the way he did when they spun through his living room. He was so tired from carrying his truth on his own. He tried to catch his breath, but the weight of all he had done pressed heavily on his lungs. “I can’t breathe.”

“Easy,” Harry soothed. “Deep breaths, Lou. It’s okay.”

Louis shook his head, flinging the blanket off of his legs as he leaned forward, his head dropping between his knees. The edges of his vision blackened as the air seemed just out of reach.

“It’s not okay… Not okay. I’m not… I’m a bad person, I-”

Harry kneeled in front of him, his brow creased as he chewed on his lip. Louis gasped for air, his face wet with tears.

“Harry,” he wept.

“I’m here,” Harry mumbled as he continued to run his hand up and down Louis’ back.

“Can a bad person turn good? Is it ever too late?” Louis whispered. “Is it too late? It’s too late… too late…”

“It’s not too late,” Harry shook his head. “Louis, what are you talking about? Did something happen?”

Louis felt the vomit and bile rise up through his chest. He ran to the bathroom and collapsed in front of the toilet. When he felt Harry beside him with a wet flannel to wipe his face, he let out a sob.

“It’s okay, Lou,” Harry said in hushed tones. “You’re okay. Safe.”

Louis nodded, his eyes squeezed shut. Here, with Harry, all of the people who would face the barrel of his gun and the works of his hands were safe. Here, he was no longer the monster that he had to be when he stalked through the streets.

“You’re okay,” Harry repeated.

Louis, falling into his arms against the cold bathroom tiles, prayed that he would be.

 

___

 

Louis huddled into his jacket as the wind whipped his fringe across his forehead. Face-to-face meetings had to happen in the open, as the risk of being recorded on a wire increased whenever four walls were involved. He had learned this trick-of-the-trade early on in his career, but, when the winter winds blew colder, he resented it.

Leaning against the metal railing, he scanned the park from left to right. As his eyes landed on the east entrance of the public grounds, he saw his boss approaching. He walked with his head high and his hands dangling at his sides. Louis trusted him with his life, but he knew that his limbs’ positions were purposeful.

His boss wanted him to know that this was a friendly meeting. That he had nothing to fear.

And Louis wasn’t afraid. He had grown up with his boss since they were boys running around the estate councils together. He was his boss’ right hand man, his consigliere, his second-in-command. He had killed for his boss, and, likewise, his boss had taken lives for him. But when his boss had called his burner phone on a random afternoon to set up a face-to-face meeting, the thought that his boss had found enough fault with him to murder him had flit through his mind.

The other man approached him, his smile dazzling in the late afternoon sun.

“Louis,” he greeted, extending his hand.

Louis nodded, walking forward to meet him.

“Hi, Liam,” he replied, shaking his hand before pulling him in for a hug.

Liam gestured towards a nearby bench, and the two men sat down, their arms draped casually over the back.

“So, how ya been, mate?” Liam queried as his head tilted. He smiled as he awaited Louis’ response.

Louis grinned as he saw the familiar smile, the same one that belied the criminal status of his lifelong friend. Liam had always been more warm-hearted than the typical gang leader. Growing up, he had been the more studious and cautious of the two. Liam’s father had tried to shield him from their line of work, but when he was sent to prison for tax evasion, Liam’s identity shifted to carry on his family name. He had dropped out of school that day, approaching Louis on how he could start.

By then, Louis’ father was already in prison for murder charges, and Louis had been managing several corners throughout the city. Despite Louis’ earlier start, Liam quickly learned the ropes. He was a natural leader to the younger boys in their employ and quickly earned the respect of the older members of the organisation. It was his father’s empire, after all. Seeing that the organisation was in hands that he trusted, Louis was glad to avoid having to wear the heavy crown. Instead, he helped Liam with the day-to-day side of running the organisation. He helped run the various businesses that they used to launder the money, and he helped train the underlings on how to sling their product. He organised the drop-offs and the pick-ups, and he was the representative for when they connected with other organisations. Liam was rarely ever seen. It was Louis’ face that the police knew. He was the one they were like to surveil, and so Louis made sure to live an untraceable life.

Until Harry.

The love of his life, who until recently, was in the dark about Louis’ true identity. Who, if another gang wanted to strike at the very heart of the Payne Crew, would serve as an all-too-easy target. Who might’ve already run to the police, for all Louis knew. If Louis didn’t love him, or if he was as heartless as any other criminal in his shoes, he would have killed him to eliminate that threat.

But, instead, he yearned for him each day and dreamed of him each night. He followed him home from the music school from time to time, anxious to see that he safely made it to his bedroom. He thought of him each time he touched the spine of a book, and on rainy days, he sometimes made an extra cup of tea.

Louis looked at Liam and decided to be truthful.

“I gotta be honest with you, Li. I’ve been feeling a bit shit lately.”

He looked away towards the large tree in front of them. A single leaf fell off of a high branch, twisting and fluttering as it fell to the ground.

“Yeah, I noticed.”

Louis sharply glanced at Liam, as fear seeped into his gut.

“Yeah?” he asked, keeping his voice casual.

“I know you’ve been hiding something.”

Louis’ heart began to race as his mouth ran dry.

“Li,” he stammered, glancing around him out of the corners of his eyes. “I can explain.”

In dreaming about Harry, he wondered if those dreams seeped into his work. If he sometimes seemed so far away that his eyes appeared unfocused, if his aim was just a little off. This wasn’t a temporary job. He knew that in this lifestyle, he would either be killed or live out his years in prison.

He turned towards Liam and raised his jaw, resigned to whatever was coming.

“You’ve done well for us. For me,” Liam began. “We’ve known each other our whole lives, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis mumbled weakly.

“You took that sentence instead of letting me get caught,” Liam continued. “Helped out the whole crew doing that.”

Louis nodded.

“Look, Lou. We’re not getting any younger, and you just got done serving 5 years for us.”

“Just doing what I had to do,” Louis shrugged.

Louis flinched as Liam grabbed onto his shoulder firmly. Liam’s brows creased.

“Why’d you flinch?” he asked. “Are you nervous or something?”

Louis chuckled and shrugged. He focused on the fabric of Liam’s jacket and on the branches of the tree as they swayed in the wind as he told himself to stay calm. “No, why?”

Liam glanced at his hand, still resting on Louis’ shoulder. “You got scared when I touched you!”

“I’m not scared, I-”

“Lou, you’ve never been scared of me-”

“Look, I know what’s coming-”

“‘What’s coming’? What are you on about?” Liam queried.

“Liam, just fucking shoot me, if you’re gonna do it!” Louis blurted, tears springing to his eyes.

Liam’s brow furrowed as he withdrew his hand. “What the fuck, Lou? What are you talking about?”

“That’s why you called this meeting, right?” Louis asked, his eyes searching Liam’s face.

“To _kill_ you? In broad daylight?” Liam scoffed.

Louis froze before exhaling.

“Well, when you put it that way, it sounds ridiculous,” he acknowledged weakly.

“Wait,” Liam paused, his eyes narrowing. “Is there any reason you think I’d want to get rid of you?”

Louis shook his head, glancing down at his hands.

“I… I just…” he met Liam’s stare. His shoulders slumped. “Do you ever want out of this sometimes?”

Liam raised his shoulders briefly, his eyes taking on a faraway look. “I mean, yeah. Sometimes…. You?”

Louis looked at the leaf that had fallen from the tree. Nodding, he replied, “Yeah.”

Liam elbowed Louis gently.

“You know, that’s what I was gonna tell you. That if you want out, I’d respect that,” Liam told him.

Louis let out a long exhale. “Liam, you know that I’m loyal-”

“Exactly, Tommo,” Liam interjected. “You can move on now. You’d be supported and all- we’re not cutting you out. Just…. You’d have time to… do the things you wanna do. Be with who you wanna be with.”

At this, Louis stiffened. Liam laughed.

“Relax, mate. I know about your boy.”

Louis kept his face impassive as he breathed slowly.

“Nothing’s gonna happen to him. If you walk away now,” Liam emphasised, “He won’t ever get on the other gangs’ radars. We’ll make sure of that.”

Louis thought about what it would feel like to wake up each morning and leave his gun at home. He imagined evenings spent with Harry, records playing as they danced with glasses of wine in their hands. Nights spent asleep in his arms, the night terrors slowly ebbing away.

He imagined how it would feel to show up at Harry’s doorstep again and hold him again.

“What would I even do with my life, Li?” Louis asked, his voice quivering.

“I don’t know, mate. I’m the wrong person to ask!” Liam raised his shoulders and snorted. “This is the life for me. I’m too far in now to ever leave.”

He took a pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket. Slapping it against his palm, he gestured the packet towards Louis.

Nodding, Louis sighed, “No one’s gonna hire a felon.”

“You got plenty of experience running a business. Maybe you can start your own-”

Louis’ raised a brow in skepticism as he lit his cigarette.

“No, like a legit one! Keep it legal. I can turn over one of the fronts to you. Which one do you want? The strip club? The grocery store? The extermination company?”

As Liam continued to rattle off the various business fronts they used to launder money, Louis’ heart began to race. Liam was willing to let go of one of their organisation’s profit-makers, just so that he could walk free.

“I can’t ask that of you, Li-”

“Yeah, you can,” Liam urged. “You gave me your whole life, Tommo. Consider this your retirement gift.”

Louis let his words sink in as a smile played upon his face. Shaking his head, he turned towards his best friend. He started to laugh as tears sprung to his eyes. As he buried his face in his hands, he felt Liam’s hand pat his back gently.

“S’alright, mate… s’alright,” he murmured, his familiar voice only serving to make Louis cry even harder. Out of everyone he knew, Liam could probably relate to Louis’ experiences the most. He was the one Louis ran to when his mother was killed and his father went off to serve a life sentence for avenging her murder. Liam’s family had taken Louis in as one of their own, and they rose through their teens and early adulthood as brothers. Louis laughed now, thinking of how ludicrous the thought was that Liam would kill him.

“But what about you?” Louis asked, brushing the back of his hand across his eyes. “Who’ll be your second?”

“Probably Horan,” Liam replied. “But, now that you’re out, I don’t want you worrying about that shit, you hear me?”

“I know, I know!” Louis said, putting his hands up in mock defense. “But if you ever need me, I’ll-”

“You’ll be with your boy, somewhere happy and far away from this hellhole, with a bunch of kids running around, no guns or drugs in sight,” Liam said firmly. He took Louis’ hand in his and held it tight. “I mean it, mate. That’s what I want for you.”

Louis inhaled sharply as warmth spread through his chest. He squeezed Liam’s hand in gratitude as he blinked back a new batch of tears.

“Fuck, man,” he sighed. “I don’t know what to say.”

Liam’s eyes misted over as he smiled.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he answered. He pushed his shoulder gently. “Just go. Get your boy, and be happy again.”

 

___

 

Harry ran his hand through Louis’ fringe, brushing it off of his forehead.

“Do you not feel free already?” Harry questioned. His eyes bore into Louis’ as his eyebrows creased in concern. His touch was tender as he continued to stroke Louis’ forehead, the feel of his fingertips soothing against his skin.

“It’s hard to explain,” Louis answered. He shook his head, not sure how to convey what he meant without revealing his whole hand.

“You’re always so secretive,” Harry mumbled, smiling softly as he nuzzled his nose against Louis’. “Remember when you tried to avoid my questions on our first date?”

Louis smiled as he thought about that night, a few months ago. He had promised to talk to Harry about his mother on their tenth date, which had long come and passed. His smile, like so many of his others, was tinged with sadness, and his words were slow and measured as he responded.

“There are some things about me that are better left unknown.”

Harry reached for his hand before pushing Louis onto his back. Gazing down at him as he straddled Louis’ hips, he shook his head.

“I want to know all of you. You don’t have to hide from me.”

Louis fought against the lump that threatened to rise in his throat, and he turned his face to the side as his eyes began to betray him.

“Hey,” Harry urged, resting his head next to Louis. “What’s wrong?”

Louis shook his head, his heart racing with how much he wanted to just lay out his burdens and confess to Harry all that he had done. He wanted so badly to let his walls crumble, to feel like he was finally clean from all the decay and damage he had inflicted throughout the years. He wanted to be able to show himself to Harry and feel worthy of his love.

As he looked at Harry’s face, kind and concerned, his eyes burned. Before Harry could see his tears, he turned onto his side and buried his face in Harry’s chest. In the darkness, he squeezed his eyes closed, in a vain effort to escape the memories of all that he had done.

“You think I’m a good person,” he whispered. “And I’m not.”

Harry placed a hand underneath his chin and lifted his head up.

“You _are_ a good person,” he claimed.

“No, Harry,” Louis insisted as he averted his eyes once more. “I’m good to you, but you…. You’re the exception.”

Harry ran a thumb over Louis’ cheek. His words were slow and gentle, like his touch, as he asked, “Did something happen, Louis?”

Louis wanted to bark out a laugh as he thought about all the things that have happened in his life up until that point. His mind ran over all the death he saw and caused- both the immediate kind where he pulled the trigger, and the slow kind- the decay and rot that he caused in the people around him. Was he selfish for keeping Harry in the dark about his true identity? Was it just another sign that he was morally corrupt, that he would hide the fact that he was a drug dealer, a violent convict? Harry, with his earnest and honest life, who apologised to inanimate objects when he bumped into them, who made funny faces at children just to make them laugh, who once confessed in a conspiratorial whisper that he owed the library nearly 25 pounds in overdue fines… One of Louis’ fears was that Harry would think that he himself was corrupt for having fallen for someone like Louis. He did not want Harry to ever feel like he was any less beautiful and perfect than he was. He would not want him to feel foolish, when all of the deception had been Louis’ fault.

Although he wanted to break down and come clean, as the air conditioner hummed and the gentle sunlight created rainbows as it glinted off of the crystal-like knobs of Harry’s wardrobe door, he decided to continue to lie.

“Nothing happened, baby,” he sighed. “I just… have a lot of shame. Don’t know why.”

Harry smiled sympathetically.

“We all do, to some extent,” he reassured him. “You know, you’re allowed to have broken pieces and jagged edges, right?”

Louis thought about the broken pieces of glass- likely old liquor bottles and pipes- that were strewn on the sidewalks of the corners where he began his career. These were the mosaic tiles to his identity. Broken and dirty, and yet Harry still believed he could be beautiful.

“I know,” Louis said, closing his eyes. He suddenly felt exhausted from their conversation. “I just don’t know if I believe it yet.”

Harry kissed him across his closed eyelids and pulled him close against his chest. Running his fingers through his hair, Harry breathed deeply. Louis felt his senses lull as Harry enveloped him completely.

“I’ll do all the believing then,” Harry murmured.

 

___

 

Louis’ leg shook as he sat on the front steps to Harry’s building. His fingers itched to grab a cigarette, just to have something to do, but he did not want cigarettes to be the first thing Harry would smell, or possibly taste, of him. He shook his head at his presumption that Harry would willingly kiss him again or even take him back into his arms, but if there was anything that his time with Harry had taught him, it was that he was able to hope for better things.

He knew from all of the countless nights he had sat in his car, waiting for Harry to arrive home safely, that there wasn’t much time left before he could expect to see Harry rounding the corner. After his talk with Liam, he had driven straight to Harry’s street, his lungs breathing in the winter air. Although they burned with the cold, each breath finally felt like it was enough. No longer burdened with the weight of his lifestyle, each step felt lighter.

Despite this, anxiety seeped in as each hour passed. He wondered if he was foolish for presuming that Harry would be glad to see him, and his restless legs stood and paced away before his mind told him to return to his spot on the stairs. The warmth of his car tempted him, but there was something about holding vigil on the cold winter afternoon, waiting for Harry as the sun set and the evening set in, that felt like the right thing to do. Perhaps it was a sign that he wanted to do the difficult thing instead of taking the easy way out. That he wanted to suffer a bit to atone for his many sins. That the wind, harsh and cold, could buff away the dirt that had accumulated onto Louis’ life, until all that was left was someone with smoothed edges, worthy and able to love Harry back.

As he heard steps distantly approaching, his spine stiffened. The steps slowed to a halt, and he raised his eyes.

A few metres away, holding a bag of groceries and a bottle of wine, stood Harry.

He was bundled in his blue peacoat, a white scarf obscuring his neck and part of his face. His head was uncovered, leaving his curls wild and windblown. Long legs peeked out from underneath the length of his coat, his feet frozen and unsure where they remained planted on the pavement.

Louis stood up slowly, his eyes soaking in the image of the man he loved. The only thing to emerge were tears, as the words seemed stuck in his throat.

“Harry,” he whispered.

Hearing Louis call his name seemed to wake him from his trance, and Harry startled back to life. Blinking, he moved forward in halting steps, the bag of groceries sliding from his arms. Louis moved to grab them before they crashed to the ground.

As they stood face to face again, mere steps away from each other, Louis could see the rise and fall of Harry’s chest and the tremors in his hands.

“Louis,” Harry breathed. He blinked back the mist in his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

Louis looked at the ground before looking up at Harry, his stomach twisted up in knots. His mouth went dry as his eyes locked with his green irises.

“Thought we could talk,” he mumbled, his legendary ability to stay composed and cold nowhere in sight. “We can talk out here, or go somewhere. Or, I don’t know… if you want. We don’t have to.”

Harry continued to stand there, still as a statue. Louis rubbed the back of his neck as an ache ripped his chest apart. It was not too late for him to walk away from his past life, he was certain of that. But as Harry continued to stare straight ahead, unresponsive to his words, he realised that maybe their time had passed. That maybe it was like every other good thing that had ever existed in Louis’ life-- ephemeral.

“This was a mistake,” he said, dejected as he turned away. “I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

His days with Harry were all-encompassing, filling him with euphoria and peace. But they were like a high, a temporary escape from the dark and broken moments that weaved his life together. His legs shook as he walked back to his car, as the hope that had filled his chest that same afternoon shattered. He was nothing but jagged edges.

“Okay,” a voice cried out as he reached his car.

He wondered if he had imagined it. His fingers froze on the car door handle, as his heart pounded in his ears. He didn’t dare turn around, afraid that if he did, he would turn to stone.

“Louis,” Harry called. “Wait.”

The two words restarted the dying beat of Louis’ heart.

“Harry,” he mumbled with his eyes closed, like a clumsy prayer. He heard footsteps quickly approach.

“Don’t leave,” Harry whispered when he reached his side. “Don’t you leave me again.”

Tears streamed down Louis’ face as his words sank in. He turned slowly towards Harry, his eyes downcast in contrition.

“I thought when you left,” Harry said, his voice choked, “I thought something happened to you.”

Louis glanced up to see that Harry was crying. Seeing him in pain, he felt spurred to action. Wrapping his arms around him, he pulled him to his chest. As he gasped for air, Harry’s familiar scent filled his senses, and Louis wanted to collapse with the relief that flooded him now that he was in his arms again.

“I thought you got killed,” Harry wept into Louis’ shoulder. “You were there, and then you were gone-”

“I’m here,” Louis whispered. “I’m here now.”

Harry looked up and held Louis’ face in his hands. He ran his thumb over Louis’ cheekbones and over his eyelashes wet with tears. His eyes trailed over Louis’ face as if he was trying to memorise each line and freckle. Louis brought his hand up to Harry’s and leaned his face into his touch.

Harry stepped closer until they shared the same breath. His mouth brushed against Louis’ eyelids before kissing his nose gently. Louis tilted his head up as he met Harry’s lips in a kiss.

All of the ragged and worn-down pieces of fabric that wove together to form Louis’ life seemed to come together in a tapestry, golden and new. Feeling soft and warm, Louis breathed into the kiss as Harry held him even closer. With each gasp for air, their heartbeats’ peaks and valleys strengthened, brought back from their near-flatlined existence.

Louis pulled back, his hands holding Harry’s face, his hair entwined between his fingers. He wanted to make sure that this was real, that this wasn’t just another one of his fever highs, that he wouldn’t wake up alone in his bed, shaking with body aches and night terrors. With his hands and his eyes, he soaked in the face that he had committed to memory that last night they spent together.

“Love,” Harry murmured, nudging Louis’ cheek with his nose. “Let’s go inside.”

Louis was eager to return to the flat that had become his safe place, where he could leave everything behind. Reaching for Harry’s hand, he turned to him and nodded.

“Let’s go,” he said. They walked, hand in hand, down the street until they reached his building. As Louis climbed the stairs, he glanced over to Harry. The other man’s eyes were red-rimmed from his tears but when he caught Louis’ gaze, his face lit up in a smile. It was a beam of light, brilliant and warm, a burst of light in the dark. It was a beacon, signaling that Louis was nearly there, nearly home.

 

___

 

“Louis?” Harry mumbled, his timbre deep and rough with sleep.

“It’s still early, love. Go back to sleep,” Louis soothed, his voice barely a whisper. He turned back towards the bed from where he stood in the open window, the moonlight streaming in past the wispy curtains. He timed each breath with the sound of waves rolling onto the shore, his frenetically pounding heart slowing to a steady pulse. Louis approached the bed and laid a gentle hand on Harry’s back, its rise and fall as meditative as the ocean’s relentless journey to and from the sands.

Louis had woken up moments before, his heart racing in terror. In his dream, he saw syringes and blue faces, blood and veins, and shattered glass along the floor. He saw Harry in a field of weeds, his vacant eyes unseeing as Louis searched them for life. Frantic and feverish, he ran his hands over Harry’s sleeping body, checking that he was warm, that he was breathing. Realising that his images were just another one of his nightmares, he crawled out of bed and walked onto their balcony, gasping in large gulps of the night air in between silent sobs.

“Another nightmare?” Harry asked, his eyes peeking open.

“Yeah,” Louis answered. He continued to run his hand up and down Harry’s long torso. The movement of his fingers along the expanse of skin tethered him to the moment.

“Wanna talk about it?” Harry offered, sitting up beside him.

Louis shook his head, not wanting to taint their slice of paradise with his nightmares, born from his shame. That was his private debt to pay. Before they left England, he had decided that upon their return, he would look into working with the youth in his neighborhood, possibly opening up a recreation league or after-school centre with his leftover money. He wanted to be the person that he so desperately needed when he was younger.

“I’m going to stop the trolley,” Louis murmured, before looking at Harry. “I’m going to make it better.”

With some of the money that he had stashed around the city, along with what Liam termed “severance pay,” he had left behind his burner phones, his gun, and his empty flat. Harry had convinced him to take a vacation to celebrate his transition into a new life.

“A proper one, Lou,” he had urged. They were driving home from Harry’s music school’s winter recital. Bouquets of flowers and trays of biscuits and pastries covered the small backseat of Louis’ sportscar, tokens of affection from Harry’s devoted students.

“What, like to Disney World?” Louis had replied. As much money as he had made during his time with the organisation, he lived a relatively modest life. He never ventured outside of his small kingdom- his whole world until then was limited to those same city blocks that shaped him.

“Doesn’t matter, really. Just take one where you can just get away from all that, where you can come back and feel like you’re starting new.”

Louis had looked over at Harry, who was facing him from where he was sat in the passenger seat. The streetlights that whirred past them illuminated his pale skin in oranges and yellows, reds and greens.

“Alright, babe,” Louis had acquiesced, smiling at his boy as he rested his hand on his thigh. “But only if you come with me.”

A few weeks later, they arrived at a bungalow on a secluded section of coast in Jamaica with enough clothes and money to last them a month. Louis thought he had left behind everything the first time he saw Harry laugh as he ran into the clear blue waters, but some things were not so easily abandoned.

But the night terrors had followed him to their bungalow in Jamaica. Louis reasoned that it was only right that he continue to pay somehow.

Harry climbed into his lap, his knees on either side of Louis’ hips. His naked thighs rested on Louis’ bare legs as he brushed his lips against Louis’ collarbones and neck.

“Harry,” Louis breathed, his hands holding gently onto Harry’s hips before wandering south.

“I love you,” Harry whispered, taking both of them into his hand. Grinding his hips up, he drew out a shaky moan from Louis.

As Louis’ finger slipped inside of him, still loose from earlier, Harry whimpered his name.

“I love you,” Louis murmured. He brought his lips to Harry’s jaw as he repeated those three words again and again, trailing down and up his neck until they reached his full lips. He reached with another hand for the bottle of lube on the bedside table. Slicking himself up and covering his fingers with more lube, he pushed in another finger, and then a third. Harry, moving above him with his hands gripping his shoulders, kept him grounded. No night terrors, no regrets, no amount of guilt could steal this moment away from him. Not with Harry gasping in his ear as his lips mouthed at his jawline, as his tongue licked against his.

As Harry sank down and enveloped him in heat, Louis’ eyes fluttered closed.

“No,” Harry gasped, as he rocked his hips back and forth. “Look at me.”

Louis opened his eyes to pools of emerald green and dark pupils, growing with each moan. He ran his hands up Harry’s back and gripped his hair by the nape of his neck as he kissed him. He savoured the taste of Harry’s lips and mouth as he thrust up into him, Harry’s cries muffled. This was Louis’ own private universe, his sanctuary, his future. This was the person that he would die and kill for, give up everything for. This was his fire. This was his peace.

All else fell away.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thank you to Bella, Rebecca, and Stephanie for helping me with this. I truly appreciate all the support, bbs.


End file.
